


Amnesty

by craftingkatie



Series: Swallowed By The New [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Darcyland (Marvel), Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attack Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craftingkatie/pseuds/craftingkatie
Summary: am·nes·tynoun1.an official pardon for people who have been convicted of political offenses."an amnesty for political prisoners"synonyms:	pardon, pardoning, reprieve;Darcy spends her time after the incident not rebuilding the city but helping rebuild Clint. She is his reprieve from the dark memories crowding his brain; His problems help distract her from her own memories of a desert quietly burning and death bearing down on her.





	1. Home Feels a Million Miles Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote Baptistina, I wanted to pull Darcy into New York and into the darkness of Matt Murdock and Hell’s Kitchen. Clint Barton stumbled into the plotline before I could bring Daredevil into the whole mess. I’ve gotten a lot of feedback about the interactions between Darcy and Clint; and quite a few requests to explore their relationship. I took the challenge. 
> 
> This started as a rewrite, but I hope I’ve twisted it and added enough to make it its own monster.
> 
> (This is all catemonsterq's fault.)
> 
> Work and Chapter Titles from Glen Phillips' "Amnesty"
> 
>  
> 
> _Points along the path, moments strung together_  
>  Give up on arrival, trying to remember  
> Everything should matter, nothing lasts forever  
> Oh how could I have known it’s braver to surrender  
> Cast off your coat and shiver in the weather  
> All the time I wasted chasing buried treasure 
> 
>  
> 
> _Home feels a million miles tonight_  
>  Hope feels a little hard to find  
> I’m trying to get some glimpse of grace  
> From across this endless sea  
> Would you offer amnesty?  
> Would you offer amnesty?

Love moves her from New Mexico to New York and it’s love that has her carrying the ten hundredth box up nine million flights of stairs- and _yes_ , _Jane_ , she counted them. Maybe it had only been four boxes and maybe she could have used the intimidating Great Glass Elevator in the lobby. Either way, the van was finally unpacked. Darcy dumps the last load, grabs a quick shower in Jane’s shiny new bathroom, then heads out into their new city. She loves Jane, _she loves Jane_ , but she needs to distance herself from the crazed look in Jane’s eyes as she organizes her belongings in their new home base.

The buildings overwhelm her and she stumbles into a tiny coffee shop, more counter than places to sit, and tries to find her calm in the bottom of a chai latte.

Not for the first time, she wonders if convincing Jane to choose New York over London had been a bad plan. Darcy Lewis, Intern had jumped at the chance to be Darcy Lewis, Research Assistant and all the shiny new salary that came along with it. How Janey had managed to convince anyone that Darcy, with a fresh off the press Political Science degree, constituted the best available Research Assistant is anyone’s guess. (Actually, Darcy guesses it had to do with a talent for filibuster and determination. Jane had those down pat.) Darcy Lewis, Research Assistant ranked a relocation bonus but not a rehoming bonus. Jane ranked an apartment next to the shiny lab and the equipment therein. Jane insists on rooming together and Darcy couldn’t be happier to accept. For now.

It’s a comfort to return back to Jane and the familiarity of boxes and duct tape and _no Jane, you cannot hang a satellite dish from your 9th floor window_ \-- she can almost pretend they’re still back in Puente Antiguo before Thor had crashed into their lives.

~

Darcy doesn’t stray far from Jane’s apartment. Jane’s settling in and then she’s across the state at a conference and then she’s studying star charts. Aside from calling to remind Jane that food is a thing and beds are fun to sleep in, Darcy really isn’t needed in the lab. She files notes from her couch, translates scribbled post-its and note cards that she grabs from Jane’s bag nightly- these being unimportant to the overarching theory, but lines of investigation to tug later as there is time. The city makes her uncomfortable and she knows well enough to give herself some slack when it comes to jumping headfirst into the newness of it all.

After so long in the desert, she has lost her city savvy (street smarts is such an overused term and city savvy has a satisfying hiss that makes her smile). Darcy walks too slow, stares for too long, can’t remember if she needs to go east or west- north or south?- to make her way to the lab without relying on apps.

She’s used to dust and dirt and dry heat- _and fire and blood pounding in her ears and shiny metal death staring down at her in the desert_ \- and everything is bright and polished and too loud and too fake. Maybe she should confide in Jane, but instead, she hides away in the apartment until she can work up the courage to explore.

Once she decides it’s time, Darcy owns the town. She discovers her top three favorite takeout places, her new favorite bar, and the corner market. She shies away from the slick, tall buildings and is drawn towards the older walk-ups in rougher areas. The food tends to be better the further she gets from the lab. After five months in Jane’s apartment, she moves out and finds herself a new home in New York. Jane doesn’t approve but Darcy settles in just fine, even without her taser.

~

Her neighborhood may be rough, but the City is jeopardy friendly. Giant space whales wreck New York City and destroy more than just buildings. Jane stays safe in her lab through it all; Darcy huddles in the basement of her building with other tenants. Some sing and some pray and some, somehow manage to catch a nap. She tries her best to wrangle the children into a storytime but goes blank with fear after the fifth earth-shaking explosion. A teenager picks up her thread and turns it into a game. Darcy tries to keep her smile pasted on, but finds it strained.

Their building stands through it all, though one down the street is missing a chunk off the top. Nearby, entire buildings were replaced by piles of rubble. She hears on the radio that some people are trapped in subway tunnels after they fled there to escape the fighting. There’s some mumbling and general discontent towards the Avengers as everyone takes in the damage, but Darcy has to figure they saved more than was damaged. She knows firsthand that aliens don’t always give you a chance to get the civilians out of the way before attacking.

She pulls on rough work clothes the day after what the papers will dub the Battle of New York and goes out to help. People are removing rubble from the street and helping to board up storefronts smashed in the battle. Darcy wanders closer to Jane’s lab, then turns toward the epicenter of the fight, stopping to help as she walks but never staying for long.

Darcy peers around a corner of what used to be an alleyway and finds a familiar face perched on top of a mountain of rubble, staring out into the street with a haunted look. She knows him from New Mexico. Agent Something-or-Another.... Barton? She takes a hesitant step forward and the man snaps to attention, all tension and angles and pain.

“Hey, friend.” She smiles and holds up a hand in greeting. She realizes she’s speaking to him like she wound to a wounded animal, but she’s not sure she could stop if she wanted to. He’s on alert, she’s on alert. He’s in pain, and she needs to help. “Do you remember me? Might not have ever been formally introduced. Darcy Lewis, the intern from Puente Antiguo? I, uh, tased Thor?”

He nods once, may even twitch the corner of his mouth up in acknowledgment. He recognizes her and the tension slips down a notch. “Some day, huh?” She steps closer while reaching into her purse; reconsiders the move when he tenses again and reaches for a weapon he either doesn’t have or she can’t see. She pauses and telegraphs her movements as she slowly pulls out a granola bar with two fingers and holds her hands up in front of her. “I came out to help and I brought snacks. Snacks always make me feel better and buddy, you look like you could use some.” He looks like he needs a month of sleep and another month of soup and nursing like her grandma used to do.

Darcy slowly approaches the mountain and holds the granola bar up. He takes it- gently, carefully- from her and sits back. “Can I join you on your mountain, dwarf king?” This time, he does bark a laugh and holds out a hand to help steady her as she picks her way to the top. His arms, she remembers, are strong as hell. Not Thor strong, but damn fine. She sits, unsteady, on a large slab and looks out into the street. “Were you a part of the battle?” She feels rather than sees his nod. She pats his knee twice, then returns her hands to her lap. “Thank you. Pretty sure you saved the city.”

“Broke the city.” He grinds out between his teeth and there’s the guilt and anger that had wrapped itself in the tension.

“Just a bit. Nothing that can’t be fixed. Not your fault aliens have God complexes.” Darcy doesn’t want to go too far down that conversational hole; her sleep, what little she had gotten, the night before had been full of death and fire. She took a deep breath and deliberately poured cheer into her voice. “So I can’t keep calling you Agent HotArms in my head. Can you tell me your name?”

“Clint,” he answers around a bite of granola bar. He breaks off a piece and offers it to her. When she accepts, he adds, “though you can keep calling me Agent HotArms,” and she definitely does not choke.

~

Darcy spends her time after the incident not rebuilding the city but helping rebuild Clint. She talks to him for four hours that first day, buys him dinner from the one vendor on the street who has access to a working kitchen. She invites him back to her apartment to sleep, shrugs off his lewd jokes with a firm repeat of the offer, and reminds him to try and sleep wherever he winds up. She even goes so far as to program her number into his phone and give him general directions to her place.

Apparently, something in her offer sticks, because three days later he shows up at her fire escape and knocks at the window.

“Can’t use front doors like normal people- or call?” Darcy grouses as she wedges the window open. Damn thing has been painted shut so many times, she’s surprised it still works. He climbs through into her room and his face is the very definition of devastation. Darcy can’t stop herself from wrapping him in a hug. “Hey, you’re okay. C’mon inside. Do you like tea? I’ve got tea or coffee and maybe some cookies.” She bundles him over to the couch and deposits him on it with a blanket around his shoulders.

He doesn’t talk at all that night- and she waits up, sits by him, falls asleep on the arm of the couch. The next morning, his story breaks out of him as the sun breaks over the fire escape. How Loki had hijacked his mind and body, how he had fought his partner, the things he had seen in the darkness of his mind- the things he feared seeing even now when he closed his eyes.

She wasn’t a therapist and she definitely wasn’t an agent. She couldn’t offer him anything other than comfort and trust but that seemed to help. He stayed with her for a week, that first stretch, then left for parts unknown only to show up again three weeks later.

Every time he had a bad night or a bad mission or just needed his DarcyTime (TM), he appeared at her window. At first, he talked and she listened. Then, they had bake-offs and movie nights. Jane was forgiving of the odd hours she kept when Clint needed time as it usually corresponded with Thor sweeping her away from her lab.

She falls into a comforting rhythm of lab time, Jane time, and Clint time. Darcy even manages to convince him to schedule a few nights rather than showing up unexpectedly. After half a year, she convinces him to use her front door every other time he visits. Mostly they stay in and she provides a distraction from his world. He sends her texts while he’s off on missions when he can and gives her contact information for the Black Widow.

(“Natasha.” he insists as he hands her the tiny slip of paper with no identifiers other than a phone number and a juvenile-seeming AOL screen name. “It’s just Natasha. If something happens to you- or if you think maybe something happened to me, call or send a message.” Darcy muses on anybody like the Black Widow being “just” anything, but Clint and Natasha are partners; partners who move and think as one, who may actually inhabit one whole body between them, they’re so close. Clint then breaks through her thoughts with “She’ll find you if I am...unavailable.” He tries to make unavailable sound like he doesn’t mean dead, but he fails and she winds up hugging him and crying.)

A year after the incident, Clint’s still worried Loki left something of himself buried deep in his brain. When they go out together, usually later at night and usually to diners for milkshakes and fries, she feels him tense as they pass certain people. Most times, they’re thugs, all brawn and threatening glares but sometimes they’re suits, polished and slimy beneath their collars. She wonders, in the back of her mind, if that isn’t a little of Loki’s leftover darkness taking note of the darkness in others.

The worry convinces her to call Erik and check in on her other favorite scientist. He rambles a bit but at the end of the call, he seems genuinely pleased to have heard from her. She promises to visit and after she hangs up she shoots a text to Jane, reminding her to call their friend when she gets a chance.

~

Darcy understands that Clint has a life and a mission outside of his friendship with her, but he usually manages to send her proof of life every other week at the very least. When he hits two months with zero contact at all, she’s considering using the tiny slip of paper stashed in an empty pill bottle in her bathroom.

At the three month mark, she has a minor meltdown at work and Jane insists they take a break and go for alcohol and greasy food. They get take away and wind up dragging chairs up to the roof of her apartment building, reminiscing over New Mexico and ranting over stupid ass men and their stupid ass need to save the universe.

When they finally stumble their way back downstairs, she leaves the ratty chairs up on the roof. Darcy had forgotten how calming it could be to be up high. It may just be a new tradition; weekly drinks and smoggy sky gazing.

Her neighborhood is slowly rebuilding. There aren’t as many restaurants or hipster cafes as there was pre-Battle. Businesses have pulled out of the area, content to spend their money on shiny new storefronts elsewhere, rather than rebuilding. Government grants are promised but don’t seem to ever come through. She knows there’s unrest in the streets, can see the uptick in crime from the stories her neighbors share and the crime blotters on various local blogs.

Darcy stops going out as much after dark and instead goes up. The roof becomes her own refuge at night, a part but apart from the city. Neighbors have moved on, been replaced but luckily no one else seems to stumble upon her hideaway.

~ 

They are having nachos and tequila on the roof when they hear a gunshot a few blocks over. Darcy wants to go look, but between the two of them, they decide to stay where they are and not tempt fate. It takes seven minutes for sirens to reach them. They can’t hear what’s going on, so they do their best to ignore it.

Jane steals the last chip off the styrofoam container and turns to Darcy. “Why don’t you move back in with me?”

“Jane,” Darcy understands her friend. She knows wanting to protect someone from the world but this is her home, dammit.

“I have an honest to god security system and you’d be so much closer to work.” Jane chews thoughtfully. “You aren't going to but dammit, Darcy, it would make me feel better to have you closer. Is it such a bad thing to be comfortable?”

“Safer, you mean?” Darcy snags a stray jalapeno.

“That too. We could have sleepovers every night-”

Darcy breaks in with “when you remember to sleep.”

“Ice cream parties and movie nights-”

“When there isn’t a huge scientific breakthrough.” Darcy’s sing-song tune has Jane clenching her fists in her lap.

“Ugh, fine. Stay here. But be safe dammit.” Jane huffs out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “I worry about you.”

Darcy mirrors her friend, staring up at the blank blackness above them. “I worry about you too. That’s what friends are for, I think.” She changes the subject by bringing up the progress Jane had made on her latest bid for publication. Jane easily takes up the topic and rants about the snobbery of academia but continues to bring up the different benefits of moving in together while they work.

~

It’s been four months and still, daily she shoots off a quick text reminding Clint she’s still here. ( _I would miss your face if you died, so don’t_ and _can I take out a life insurance policy on a super spy? Asking for a friend_.) It’s another month beyond that before she gets a short “im okay ttyl,” which, really Clint? That’s not the best way to announce you’re still alive. She shoots back a few question marks but receives no answer.

She bakes a cake before heading to the lab and Jane knows better than to ask why.

“Is this chocolate?” is her only question as she accepts the slice from Darcy.

“Dutch chocolate,” Darcy confirms and cuts a slice for her boss.

“If you moved back in with me, we could have cake every day. I would keep you in the baking supplies in exchange for baked goods.” Jane offers. She quickly shoves a bite in her mouth and turns away. Darcy stabs the knife into the cake and stalks down to the employee break room to make a cup of tea. She texts Clint for the fifth time that morning and then vows to turn off her phone and never use it again when she receives no response.

After two weeks with no further contact, Clint shows up at her window looking like week-old roadkill. She packs a tote with snacks and drags him up to the roof. He talks, haltingly and with omissions that are glaringly obvious, and she listens.  Something happened. Something that’s torn him up inside and brought him back to how he was right after Loki. She wants to bundle him in a cocoon of blankets and never let him out again.

When he finally fades off into silence and then into a fitful sleep, she sits up and watches over him. Relief flows stronger than adrenaline through her and keeps her up deep into the night.

“Are you still awake?” his voice cuts into the still of her thoughts and she startles. It must be near dawn; 5AM maybe, as the street traffic has picked up. She thinks the bakery might be opening down the street. A siren- police? ambulance?- starts up, passes by and then fades.

“Yeah.” Darcy puts down her phone and shifts in her seat to face him. “You feeling any better?”

Clint scrubs his hands over his face and stands up to pace. “You should be sleeping. I shouldn’t have kept you up; shouldn’t have brought you into this.” His guilt strangles her, brings her anger to a boil. “You don’t need this in your life. I should leave--”

“I’m here because I damn well want to be. You don’t get to take my choice away, Barton.” Darcy bites down on a string of curses and forces herself to draw air into her lungs. Her hands are fists in her lap and her face is _not_ wet because she isn’t crying, dammit. “We are close enough that you should know better than to say something like that. I get to vent about Jane’s odd habits and the neighbors and their bass beats; you get to unload on me when you need to. That’s how we work; that’s how friends work; that’s why I’m here. Now, get your head out of your ass and buy me breakfast.” She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘stupid ass heroes’ and stands up.

He enfolds her in a hug, squeezes her until her ribs protest, seems to search for the right words to say. “You remind me of Natasha sometimes;” and then, “sorry, I was wrapped in my own deal;” and then, “pancakes?” The apology mixed with the compliment (she’s like the Black Widow? Score!) and the offer of pancakes has her smiling into his shoulder. 

~~


	2. Hope Feels a Little Hard to Find

Clint continues hying off into the great unknown, his missions sending him off on one- to two-week stints in God-Knows-Where doing I-Can’t-Tell-You-What. But their adventures continue in the meantime, now with added superheroes. She thinks she may be the only person who greets the Black Widow with a hug. It’s only after she steps away that she considers that maybe it had been a bad idea. Natasha just smiles and ushers them in the deli she had wanted Clint to try. 

Watching crime fighting badasses pretend to be normal might just be her new favorite thing. The male model level server flirts heavily with Natasha as they order, even as Clint glares so hard that if looks could kill the server would be sizzling ash.  Luckily, Clint manages to hold in his temper and the food is actual facts phenomenal.

She moans around her second bite of pastrami and looks up to see both Clint and Natasha staring. 

“Um.... sorry?” She shrugs and replaces the sandwich in her hand with a pile of napkins to cover her mouth as she chews. 

“No, go right ahead.” Natasha gestures widely. “It’s nice to know someone else enjoys this place as much as I do.”

Darcy grins. “I’ll be glad to come back with you, anytime. You can tell me about all the times you’ve beaten Clint at being a badass. I’m sure that will fill at least a month of Sundays.”

“At the very least, ” Natasha’s grin is almost friendly. Clint makes a good-natured objection, but his arm is warm around her shoulders and she leans into him with a laugh at his expense. It feels good- better than she wants to admit- to be wrapped up in him. Feelings she has kept bottled inside jostle for acknowledgement but she pushes them aside, and under the pretense of going for another large bite of her sandwich, does the same to Clint. She is not going to have Feelings all over him and ruin the comfortable friendship they have built. He needs her and she has come to rely on him, no need to complicate anything.

Natasha orders two slices of cake for them all to share. She says she needs help deciding which is best, but Darcy figures it might be an excuse to have a taste of both before they leave. That’s the kind of ordering Darcy can get behind, so she makes a pro/con list for Natasha on the back of a napkin. It’s very scientific, really, even if it covered with data points like “Very Yummy” and “More Chocolatey.” Natasha gains more points for folding it and placing it carefully in her pocket, promising to take her recommendations into consideration. Darcy beams. 

~

The Feelings are getting harder to contain, and Darcy even mentally gave them a bigger bottle to inhabit there in the corner of her brain. She turns to dating for a distraction. There are a few lab rats that aren’t too heinous to look at and though dating at work is a tricky proposition, she decides to go for it. (It can’t be any harder than hiding her inappropriate crush on Clint.) 

Clint and Natasha are off together on the third week of what was supposed to be a two week mission. This time they’ve been in near constant contact, so Darcy does not need to waste time worrying over them. She plans three dates and buys herself a new dress to celebrate. Jane lets her borrow that one scarf that totally looks better on Darcy than it does on Jane, thank you. She’s not saying she conveniently waited until her two favorite spy-sassins were out of the state before scheduling dates, but it did help to know they wouldn’t magically stumble upon her on an awkward first date. 

David texts to say he’s on his way to pick her up and she’s still curling her hair. It’s a waste of time, she knows. The curls never stay but the volume it gives her hair makes the trouble almost worth it. When she’s finished and giving herself a final once over in her floor length mirror, she gives herself double finger guns.

“Damn fine,” she pronounces as she wraps the scarf around her shoulders as a fancy shawl. David springs for a taxi to an Italian place he swears will change her view of tortellini forever. She’s too polite to suggest she hadn’t any thoughts on pasta, much less views that could be changed. Was it edible? Good enough for her.

When he announces, proudly, that he will be paying for their meal, don’t-you-worry-about-the-price, before she’s even had a chance to crack open the menu, her shoulders hunch to her ears. Surely he hadn’t been this pretentious around the lab. Darcy is usually great at catching the men who wave their toxicity about like a flag. He’s still smiling expansively when she makes the knee-jerk reaction not to leave his smug ass high and dry. 

Her smile in return is thin and insincere as she orders the most expensive dish on the menu, something with hand-pulled pasta and fresh lobster. To his credit, he barely blinks before adding his own order and asking for a bottle of wine Darcy won’t be drinking. She’s willing to spend his money but unwilling to let anything impair her judgement. 

Damn. This was supposed to have taken her mind off Clint, but instead, she’s left wondering if she should have introduced her potential dates to him. His Loki-sense would at least have helped her avoid the creepers.

Hopefully, David’s worst quality is his inflated machismo but Darcy isn’t willing to risk it by drinking. She’s waving her hand over her glass, telling the sommelier no, thanks when there’s a bright flash of flame beside her. The inelegant noise that comes out of her mouth is something close to a yelp and she’s staggering to get up from the table before she realizes the fire isn’t a threat. The sommelier tries valiantly to save the bottle, but about half of the wine winds up on the floor as he stumbles away from her. 

Patrons at nearby tables are staring at her, some with haughty glares but some with pity. Darcy flushes and settles back into her seat. The hostess has brought over a pitcher of ice water and the sommelier has been replaced by their server with a pile of napkins to sop up the mess. 

She fights to bring her stuttered breathing back under control as the patronizing server explains it’s merely their signature dessert, the  _ pain flambé _ . Darcy waves him away, going for haughty but probably coming across as merely flustered. Country Girl done come to Town- it’s a part she’s played before. But, really, what Italian restaurant serves a dessert with a French name- and who in their right mind orders something that’s named the equivalent of Bread on Fire? 

Even David’s smile seems more condescending now as he chuckles across from her. “I promised you dinner, but you’re providing a show, eh?” he asks. Her hands are shaking and she clasps them in her lap, rather than around his neck. She is safe. She is whole. She is....embarrassed and angry with it. 

The chef sends out a comped plate of bruschette for them and Darcy tries not to scowl as she nibbles on the bread. It’s over, it happened, now let her get over it. She can still feel the occasional glance from the staff and the other customers but David seems not to notice as he prattles on about his research grants and sizable trust fund. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she feels light-headed. Darcy wants nothing more than some excuse to leave this smug bastard and crawl under a blanket at home.

She slumps down- gracefully- to pull her cell phone out of her purse. If only she had taken the time to come up with code words, she could shoot a coded text to Jane or Clint or even Natasha and have one of them call her with an “emergency”. Any excuse would do at this point. 

_ WHERE ARE YOU????  _

Clint’s text lights up her screen as she stares at her phone.  _ Holy crap, she’s magic _ . Without caring if David thinks she suddenly finds her own crotch fascinating, Darcy unlocks her phone and shoots back a response. 

_ Out at dinner.  _

And then, because it makes her smile (and he definitely would) _ : Save me! _

It’s only after she sends her reply that she analyses the fact he has texted in all caps. That’s odd. Stylistically he tends towards lowercases at all times, grammar rules be damned. And the excessive punctuation should have concerned her.

She’s frowning, sliding her fingers over the screen to send a follow-up question. Maybe it’s an  ‘are you okay?’ or even a return ‘where are you?’- not that it matters. The phone rings in her hand before she can complete her thought. 

“Clint!” Darcy answers with a smile, manners be damned. David can eat a dick on top of his pasta. 

“WHERE ARE YOU.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand and it’s desperate.

“Clint. What’s wrong?” Darcy tucks her hair behind her ears, trying to decipher his panicked muttering. She’s in response mode, barely tracking her own movements as she focuses on the phone. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” He’s not listening to her. His breathing is erratic over the line and her own breathing becomes tight.

“Darcy. Please. Please just tell me-” the phone is taken away from Clint but she can still hear him repeating her name over and over again. Her eyes are burning and her lungs are stuttering. She knows this feeling, knows this panic. Her emotions are rising to meet his and she can’t quite stop them.

“Darcy, it’s Tasha.” Natasha’s voice is calm, soothing after Clint’s panic. “Are you safe?”

“What?” Darcy gasps the question out. “Y-yes, I’m fine. I’m on a date. What happened- what’s wrong?” David is making a pinched face, his mouth sucked in like he’s got a taste of something sour. He opens his mouth to complain but Darcy is not having it. She presses her hand out towards him, making it clear she has no more time for his bullshit. 

“Darcy take a breath for me. We are fine. He had an episode after... after a nightmare, I think. We are in your apartment. Is there any way you could meet us here? I think he may need visual confirmation you are fine. He’s convinced you’re not safe.”

She takes a shuddering breath, then another. “I’m about 20 minutes away. Less if I get a cab.” She’s already up and wrapping her scarf around her neck. David doesn’t even get a second glance as she slams out the door, her arm already outstretched to flag down any passing cab. Luckily, this nice a restaurant keeps a steady business of cabs and she’s able to grab one as someone climbs out of it. 

“Keep breathing, Darcy. You’re reacting to his panic and it won’t do either of you any good.” Natasha hangs up as Darcy spits out her address to the driver. 

~

Darcy tosses bills at the driver as she clamors out of the car and into her building. She knows better, usually keeps a tighter count on her money but now is not the time for budgets. Her feet barely touch the stairs as she runs up them- and doesn’t she wish she was a Gym Person after that exertion. She takes a moment outside her door to try and gasp in enough air to steady herself. 

She has to use both hands to hold the keys steady enough to unlock her door. Clint and Natasha are by the windows on the far side of her apartment when she enters. Clint’s face is tense and he’s ready to attack when the door opens.

Seeing the intruder is actually Darcy, Clint eats up the distance between them in less than three strides. “Darcy.” He hugs her tight, his nose pressed into the crook of her neck and his mouth moving against her collarbone. She’s tense and uncomfortable until she realizes he’s saying “You’re okay,” over and over again. His arms are a prison around her and she struggles to keep her focus on her friend- and not on the panic bubbling beneath her skin.

She drops her keys, her bag at her feet and wraps her arms around his waist. “Clint, I’m fine. We’re fine.” Darcy tangles a hand in his hair to press him closer, not sure how else to help. Breathes in his panic, breathes out her own. “Take a breath, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re in my apartment. Everything’s okay.” Her words don’t seem to penetrate his fog, or at least he doesn’t loosen his hold on her. She meets Natasha’s eyes, raises her eyebrows in a question. (Relaxes her shoulders, clenches and releases her muscles from head to toe, breathes in for 7, out for 10)

His breathing is erratic and his fingers clutch even as she tries to pull away. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemy. She knows what that panic feels like. He won’t let her loose and the bite of her own panic is acrid on her tongue.

“Stand down, Agent HotArms.” Darcy orders and Clint finally moves to release her. She regrets the harsh tone almost immediately, but it did get him to react.

Natasha has her arm around Clint as Darcy finally breaks free. “Hot Arms?”

“I may have a thing for muscled arms.” Darcy shrugs, going for nonchalant but knowing she’s almost panting like she’s run a marathon. “Clint, can you look at me?”

He looks her in the eye and breaks, falling to the ground with a noise like a sob. Holy monkeys, what is she supposed to do? She steps forward, thinking she’ll help pull him to his feet, but he wraps his arms around her legs and buries his head in her knees. His shoulders shudder as he takes his first deep breath since Darcy entered the apartment.

Natasha pats him on the shoulder and heads over to the couch where two bags rested. Darcy tangles her fingers in his hair- it’s longer now and she wonders when he last got it cut. She alternates a kind of massage with a gentle tugging of the strands as he kneels and breathes. He’s calming now, she thinks. He is no longer chanting her name or clenching her legs as hard. 

Her hand stills on his head as she looks up to find Natasha sitting on her couch, back to them with a book in her lap. Natasha is studiously ignoring Clint’s breakdown and Darcy wonders if that’s how they work when the other breaks. He gets his privacy and his partner gets plausible deniability. I didn’t see him cry, so it never happened and we can all continue merrily on our way. Nothing to see here.

Christ, she wanted to drag them all to Group Therapy. Maybe she could go back to school and get a degree in Counseling. 

Darcy can feel his breath brushing against her bare knee and it makes her pulse quicken as a warm shiver passes through her. She closes her eyes and firmly tells the Feelings to hop right back in their bottle. “Are you with me?” she whispers down at Clint.

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse and his lips brush against the skin of her leg and ....Christ, she needs some distance. She can feel every inch of skin he’s touching in high contrast. The Feelings may crave his touch, but the rest of her realises that now is not the time to be turned on. 

She bends a bit to hook a hand underneath his arm. “C’mon, let’s get you to the couch. This can’t be good on your knees.” He stands up smoothly, seems to be able to move under his own steam, but she keeps an arm around his waist as they make their way to where Natasha sits. The book is now folded beside her and she watches as Clint sinks down onto the other end of the couch. Darcy doesn’t know where to sit- should she sit?- or what to do with her hands. She perches upon the armrest next to him.

They sit in silence, Darcy more in tune with the rhythm of his breathing than she is with her own still stuttering breath. His shoulders are hunched and he’s bent over, staring at his shoes. Clint is so tense, he could snap in two on the slightest breeze. She worries at a hangnail on her thumb as her hands clasp in her lap. 

“Darce, dammit. I’m sorry.” He’s got his face buried in his hands now. “I clicked straight into panic. Loki, the nightmares, you... it all got mixed up somehow. I just  _ knew _ you were in danger. You needed me.”

She doesn’t want to pat his back with an insincere  _ it’s okay _ , because it’s not okay. It’s ridiculous and horrible and she hates that she still tastes panic in the back of her throat.  _ It’s okay _ won’t help anything and in any case, Natasha is looking to Darcy like she expects more. Darcy aims to live up to those expectations. She craves the approval of his partner as much as she longs for Clint to be mended, whole once again.

Falling back on what she knows, she stands up and kicks her heels across the room. “C’mon. We’re going to make brownies. I have those fancy ass chocolate chips you like so much.” Her stomach gurgles as she moves barefoot towards her kitchen. “Also, probably real food. I skipped out before Asshole David had to pay for my meal.”

“Who is Asshole David?” Natasha asks but both of them are looking to her for an answer.

“The guy I was out with; there would not have been a second date even without the way this one ended. There shouldn’t have ever been a first.” She pulls down a large mixing bowl and the fancy dark chocolate baking chips Clint favors. “He literally told me not to worry over the price of the meal, he would take care of the ticket. Before we even sat down.” 

Natasha hmmms as she bends to rifle through Darcy’s fridge. Darcy fights a wave of embarrassment as she mentally catalogs the contents: multiple old takeaway containers, half a carton of eggs, a pint of milk leftover from her last baking blitz, a wedge of cheese from four months ago, a case of soda and a few beers. There really isn’t anything resembling real food in her apartment. Scrambled eggs would work in a pinch, but then there wouldn’t be any for the brownies. They may need to go out. Darcy starts to voice just that when Natasha straightens. 

“The state of your fridge is....scary.” Natasha assesses. Darcy just nods, because yeah....it really is scary. “I’ll go grab curry. Any requests?” Darcy requests extra naan, but neither Darcy nor Clint have any specific order and Natasha is soon gone, leaving them alone in her kitchen. 

Darcy grabs the dry baking ingredients, her cocoa powder, the eggs and her vanilla extract while Clint takes his place in front of the bowl with a spatula. They work like robots, Darcy silently measuring ingredients while Clint mixes them together.

Finally, the silence becomes too much for her to take. “I’m sorry.” Her part is done and her hands are empty, nothing to take her attention and distract her. Clint stops mixing but doesn’t turn to face her.

“You don’t-” he huffs a laugh and presses his hands down flat on the counter. “Why are you sorry?” he asks, looking at her.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Darcy shrugs and tries to ignore the stinging in her eyes. It’s as true as any other answer she could give. 

He stares at her, his face open with emotion and his eyes wide as he takes her in. “Darcy.” he groans as he crushes her to his chest in a bone creaking hug. It’s like he can’t get her close enough. One hand cradles the back of her head, holding it against his broad chest and she’s glad she isn’t wearing glasses. His other hand slips down to her hip and clenches in the fabric there. She takes proximity as an excuse to bury her nose into him and breathe him in. 

Clint presses a kiss to the top of her head and sighs full body relaxation into their embrace. “What would I do without you?” She doesn’t have an answer for him; hopes they’ll never have to find out because her bottle of Feelings has fallen off the mental shelf and cracked wide open. Darcy is a goner. She loves Clint Barton.

~

The brownies are in the oven and Darcy is holding herself carefully apart from Clint when Natasha comes in with bags of takeaway. She had him sit on a stool at the counter while she is very slowly cleaning up their mess. He doesn’t need the admission of her Feelings on top of everything else that night, but Darcy feels them so close to the surface that one look from him and she may just confess.

Natasha unpacks the bags at the counter, joining Clint on the other stool. Darcy grabs her own curry and digs in standing up, leaned over the kitchen sink like a lady. Clint tries to make her take his stool, but she refuses, her mouth full of food. He and Natasha eat with such a quiet efficiency that Darcy can only try to keep up. The two have finished and cleaned up their trash as the timer for the brownies goes off. 

Darcy gives up on real food and puts the container away in the fridge as Clint pulls the dessert from the oven. She grabs a soda- because caffeine is her friend- and follows him to the sofa. The hot pan goes down on a stack of newspapers she leaves there exactly for this purpose. Clint and Darcy settle in on the couch and use spoons to grab up bites of hot brownie straight from the pan.

It’s only after her second bite that she realizes Natasha is standing there, staring at them like a silent, judging...judgey person.

“What?” Darcy asks around her mouthful of chocolatey goodness. Natasha just sighs and sits down with a bowl that she spoons a portion of brownie into. “See, you think that’s the better move, but we’re just saving ourselves from future dishes by eating straight from the pan.” Clint nods his agreement around his spoon. 

Natasha sits back without comment and Darcy can’t help but laugh. They settle on a marathon of Nightmare Tenants. The view of British housing laws is fascinating and the added drama of the tenants themselves is pure escapism for the trio. Clint has put his spoon down and is leaning against Darcy by the second episode. By the end of the third, he’s given in and is laying down with his head in Darcy’s lap. Natasha moves to the armchair on Darcy’s side to give Clint more room to stretch out, though he sleepily insists they can all fit. 

During the fourth episode, Darcy can feel that the tension has left his body in sleep. She strokes a hand absently up and down his side, resting her hand at his hip when she gets caught up in the drama on screen. Her legs are crossed and he’s got one arm tucked under her knee and one hand gently resting on her ankle. She is so content she could maybe, probably sing. 

Natasha shifts to pull her legs up onto the seat, facing Darcy and grabbing her attention from the screen. She looks stiff and uncomfortably intense, her mouth pursed in a thin line. Her face resembles that of Darcy’s grandma when faced with a full litter box; shit’s about to happen and Darcy wants no part of it.

“Tasha, if you want to catch some sleep you can use my bed. I’ll sit up with him.” Darcy offers, hoping to put off whatever it is Natasha is about to lay on her. 

“Have you ever had a feeling that something bad was going to happen?” Natasha asks quietly.

Darcy freezes and stares at her for a second.  _ Well, not until you just said that... _ “Not really. I mean, sometimes I just know there’s going to be a wreck up ahead or something but...” She trails off, then braces herself as she asks, “Why?”

“It’s been building for Clint for a week. Just little comments, here and there. Were we being followed when we took you out the other week; could you be a target of his enemies.” Natasha’s eyes are flat, cold, and definitely scary. “I haven’t had cause to be this worried for his mental state; not since right After.”

Shit. There it is. She could hear the capital “A” in After. After Clint was mind-raped by an angry god. After he was pulled apart and put back together, broken in places. After she came upon him, perched on a mountain of rubble looking like he had been dragged through Hell. “I know it’s a part of how PTSD can manifest; I know it may also be a leftover from... from what Loki did to Clint.”

“I’ve never seen him act as he did tonight.” This is an attack- or maybe an interrogation, Darcy thinks. She’s digging in and Darcy has no defense against it. “I’ve seen him after nightmares; he’s never gone blind to reason before. He was desperate to find and save you.”

She cannot stop herself from recoiling, from grasping the fabric of Clint’s t-shirt in her hand. He’s an anchor against the oncoming flood of guilt. 

“Oh.” What exactly can she say to  _ that _ ? What response is Natasha wanting? Because there’s nothing she can offer in response. Nothing but guilt slowly flooding through her body.

“He’s set you up as his touchstone; his one bright spot. If you were to not be here, if I hadn’t been able to stop him....” Natasha trails off, still staring at Darcy.

“It’s not like that. He hasn’t had a bad night in a long time.” Darcy argues, fighting the guilt and Natasha’s assumptions. “He’s gotten better. We’ve worked on coping strategies.”

Natasha is shaking her head and it makes Darcy want to grit her teeth. “It isn’t enough. If you were to shut him out, he would collapse.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on going anywhere.” Darcy struggles to keep her tone at a normal speaking level. She really does not want Clint awake for whatever the hell this conversation is turning into. Natasha has leaned back in her seat, but still Darcy feels crowded by her accusations. “I know I’m not enough.” ... _ and isn’t that a knife in her heart _ . “We’ve been talking about finding him someone to talk to, someone not related to SHIELD. Someone who wouldn’t have an ulterior motive or use anything against Clint.”

“And yet he hasn’t made that move. No one would judge you harshly for pushing him away. He needs help, help you can’t provide. It would be a mercy.” Is Natasha purposefully trying to piss her off and break her down in one go? Do they practice this in Spy School?

“Are you fucking serious?” Darcy cannot hold the venom back, try as she may. “He needs someone who has his back without any agenda. I love him!” She’s too loud and too late she realises it. She takes a breath. “I love him. I will not push him away when he needs someone to be there for him.”

Natasha is a viper with one more attack. “It will not be easy; loving him, even having a relationship while wading through his past, his issues.”

“AND?” Her whisper is forced through her clenched teeth. “Does that mean I’m just supposed to abandon him? Get out of my house. You’re his  _ friend _ . I will not let you- how could you even?” She can’t complete a thought and of course, there are tears stinging her eyes. Angry tears, dammit. Darcy wishes Clint were in the other room so she could stand up and pace, maybe throw something. What kind of bullshit power trip is Natasha going off on? She’s supposed to be his damned partner.

The hand on her ankle gently squeezes and she freezes. “Tash, leave her alone. She doesn’t need vetting by you.” Clint is awake. Clint is slowly sitting up and Natasha is inexplicably smiling.

What the tap dancing Christ is going on?

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It veers far away from the Baptistina plot from here on out, as you may be able to tell. I hope you like where I'm leading you.


	3. Cast Off Your Coat and Shiver in the Weather

Darcy gives in to the urge and pushes up to pace around her cramped living area. The television drones on behind her. Clint is sitting on the couch and Natasha has moved to stand next to him. The tension builds in her, electric heat up her spine, across her shoulders and down to her clenched fist. “What the ever loving WHAT?” she finally bursts out as she whirls to face them. She’s pretty sure she’s crying but she’s too mad to check. “Was that a fucking test? I mean, really?”

Natasha steps towards her and Darcy is wound so tight, she fears she will snap in half. She reaches out and Darcy doesn’t flinch when her hand touches her face, but it’s a near thing. 

“Apologies,  _ kotyonok _ , but I had to know for sure.” Her hand is smooth, her touch gentle as she swipes a tear from Darcy’s face with her thumb. It’s intimate and a striking about-face from her verbal attack just moments ago. “You are important, more than you realize.” Darcy is overwhelmed. She knows she should say something, anything; her mouth hangs open but nothing comes out before Natasha has turned away. Her cheek tingles where Natasha’s hand had rested; Darcy files that information away to examine at  _ any moment other than right now _ . She needs to hold onto anger because confusion and near-panic won’t serve her well at this point. 

Before Darcy can master her emotions, Natasha has grabbed her things and headed towards the door. “I’ll handle the debrief. You have things to discuss.” Natasha tosses over her shoulder as she slips out of Darcy’s door, closing it softly behind her.  

“Seriously?” Darcy is not sure who her harsh whisper is directed at: the door Natasha had just walked out of, Clint, or herself. She glares at the door, choosing the easiest person to be mad at and tries to reign in her tears. 

Clint takes a breath as if to say something then stops. They’re frozen, an awkward tableau in time. When she finally looks at him, he stands up and crosses the room to her. He reaches out to touch her face- the same side Natasha had caressed and that would just be too much for her. She flinches away, ducking around him. 

She circles around him, trying to put distance between them. Darcy is not at all sure what she wants but she knows she cannot take him touching her right now.

“I’m so sorry, Darce.” Clint holds both hands up, palms out. 

“Why....” Darcy doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to find out. There are just so many questions she wants answers to- but fear makes her ask again, “Why?” and what she means is  _ were you really asleep _ ? and  _ did you know she would dig so deep into me _ ? and  _ did Natasha parrot things you’ve said to her before about me, us _ ? 

...and, maybe the most pressing question circling her thoughts,  _ did you hear me confess my love for you _ ?

“She was prodding for weakness. It’s her defense mechanism and she projects it onto others. If I had known she planned on pulling that stunt, I wouldn’t have let my guard down. I wouldn’t have fallen asleep and left you to deal with her questions.” Clint says. “I wouldn’t have left you alone. She was out of line...but I promise you she had good intentions. Tasha would have seen it as protecting the both of us from future heartbreak. Not that that’s any excuse...” 

“I didn’t deserve that.” She wraps her arms around herself; holding herself together, holding him away. 

“No. No, you did not.” Clint steps toward her again but this time she doesn’t retreat. “You’re more than enough. You help me more than you know. She’s just...protective of me and of our partnership.”

He wraps her carefully in his arms and she lets him, though she feels ripped open. Her emotions are raw and right on the surface. The fresh wave of tears catch her off guard and Clint holds her upright when her knees weaken. There’s not a part of her that isn’t reeling; that isn’t in pain. She can’t breathe because nothing is right and it’s not  _ right _ . Maybe the tears will clear the anxiety out of her system. Darcy leans her forehead against his shoulder and gives into the tears. There’s no fight left in her. Clint holds her tight and whispers words meant to comfort, though they fall on her ears in mumbles she can’t make out through the rushing sound drowning everything out. 

When at last her eyes run dry, she heaves a shuddering sigh that may be close to a laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “Exactly how much did you hear?” She whispers into his shoulder, hiding from seeing the truth across his face.

“Enough.” He answers and she groans displeasure without moving her head. It might be a ‘ _ not helpful _ ’ or an ‘ _ asshole _ ’ but it comes out a garbled mess of consonants. “Enough to know that I mean as much to you as you do to me.” He sounds exasperated, but he’s smiling as he drags her off of his shoulder and holds her at arm's length. “Did you mean it?” His eyes are searching her face and she’s drawing a blank on the entire English language. What was it he had asked? “Did you mean it when you told Natasha you loved me?”

Darcy nods. Darcy nods because words are hard and her heart is literally in her throat and Clint’s eyes are so bright before her. He beams and suddenly she just knows he’s going to kiss her. Maybe it will be like all of those old black and white movies, the lights will dim and her foot will pop as their lips meet. Maybe it will wipe away the shitshow this night has become. Maybe

Except of course it isn’t a movie; real life is never that easy.

She’s been crying and he’s stretched thin. His lips are fire against hers, his hands cradling her body close to his own, and she wants to give herself over to the joy of finally- Finally!- having him. But it’s been a bit of a night. They don’t need to try and start a conversation they can’t finish. ( _ Conversation _ ? Is that what the kids call it these days?)

He pulls away, slowly. Darcy blinks her eyes open and steps back. “We shouldn’t.” She’s smiling wryly as she says it, hoping to ease any anxiety he may have over her rejecting his advances. 

Clint runs a hand over his face, then scratches at his ear. “Yeah; it’s been a long night.”

“Understatement.” She laughs. “Could we table this for the morning, maybe?”

“Yeah.” He stares at her for a beat. “Yeah. You need sleep. Just let me grab my things and I’ll give you some space.”

“Clint.” His name on her lips stops him as he would turn away. “You can stay. You would have stayed anyway before...all this happened.” Hell, they’d still be on the couch watching mindless television and eating brownies if the interrogation hadn’t interrupted everything. “We could....share the bed.” Gods, this is awkward. She doesn’t want to give him up so soon after that kiss. She needs to feel his body next to her. “It’s been a long night.” She repeats his words in the face of his silence. 

Clint nods and she’s flooded with relief. He follows her back to her room, hefting along his duffel. They avoid words; saying anything at this point would be folly. Their brains are shot, and she can’t be the only one suddenly feeling bone deep tired. She leaves him in the bedroom to take a shower, as hot as her body can take, to wash away the night and her tears. He changes while she’s in the bathroom, pulls down the bedclothes and climbs in. 

When they’re there under the covers together, she holds herself still for a few minutes before giving in to the urge to roll into him, press her hand to his heart and her head to his shoulder. He brings up an arm to hold her close and they lay there, wrapped up in one another. 

Darcy surrenders to sleep quicker than she would have thought possible. Perhaps it’s the emotional drain of the night or the comfort of being held. In either case, she sleeps.

~

Clint comes awake in stages. First, he can feel the air surrounding his skin- air conditioning, he’s inside. No longer on that last mission then, he catalogues the thought carefully. Then comes the smells. There’s the scent of lemons and rosemary- Darcy, he’s near Darcy, who always smells of citrus and herbs and  _ home _ . Fabric softener, the brand Darcy favors, that covers the bedclothes he’s tangled in. Finally, his hearing fades in, and thank god for the miniscule hearing aids Tony designed over a long weekend of experimental equipment and shouting. There’s a whimper, pained and strangled from beside him.

Darcy is no longer laying against him. She’s curled up in a fetal position, facing away from him. Her body shakes, shuddering movements that mirror her murmured protests. It must have been the vibrations of the bed that woke him, and he’s glad for it. Clint untangles the sheets from around her as he sits up. He wants to wake her up but he’s not sure it would save her from the nightmare she’s facing down. He reaches out and brushes the hair from her face as he says her name. “Darcy? Darcy, honey, can you wake up for me?” 

~

It’s the same nightmare she’s had over and again. She’s crouched behind an overturned car, in front of a storefront that’s on fire. The air ripples in the heat and the whirring crunch of metal has her tensing up. There’s no one around, no one between her and her impending death. The screams have stopped,  _ oh god they’ve all stopped screaming _ , and all that remains is the crackle of fire. 

The giant robot Destroyer twists, turns unnaturally and focuses in on her. She’s going to die. She’s going to be burned alive. 

Darcy stands up on shaky legs, unwilling to play the helpless victim. She’ll die standing up (though she still prays for a savior as her tears blur her vision.) There are bodies lying prone around her in Puente Antiguo. She refuses to examine them for fear she will recognize their faces as she steps around the car and into the street. In avoiding the other bodies around her on the sidewalk, she’s come upon her worst nightmare. Thor looks close to peaceful, prone on the street with Jane’s crumpled form over him. Save for the blood and blackened flesh, she could almost pretend they were just....

Her knees buckle and a high pitched keening rips from her throat as she falls to the ground. No. 

_ No no no no _ ....

 

The face of the Destroyer heats up, goes orange before turning a rippling fiery red, and Darcy prepares for the end.

Then there’s Clint, standing in front of her and facing down Death. He’s not Thor, he’s just a human and that fire will kill him just as sure as it would consume her. Natasha comes up beside him, the other Avengers less clear in her mind but still silently forming a line between her and the Destroyer. They’re all going to die. They will burn here in the desert.

To try and save her.

_ It’s all her fault _ .

 

The fire comes. It blows through her heroes, tossing them aside before burning her whole. She wakes up screaming, feeling flames licking at her skin.

~

“Darce, are you wakin’ up?” Clint’s voice is hoarse. Darcy covers her face with her hands, slowly trying to calm her heart rate. A nightmare; it was just the damned nightmare again- because that’s exactly what she needed.

She’s grateful to find she is not trapped beneath coverings or between Clint’s arms. As much as she enjoys hugs on a good day, nightmares leave her feeling sensitive and exposed. Darcy sits up and wraps her own arms around her knees. Salt streaks her face and her breath is heaving like she’s been running- or screaming. “I was screaming, huh?” She asks, burying her face against her knees. The world is shaking, or maybe she is, and she’s not quite sure how to make it stop.

“Just a little.” He shifts closer to her, a warm presence behind her. His hand hovers before closing gently over the back of her neck. Darcy starts but doesn’t object to the touch as he attempts to massage the stress away. “It sounded bad.” 

“Death. Fire. Destruction. The usual.” Darcy huffs a laugh before leaning back against him.

“The usual?” Clint questions and Darcy realises with a sinking heart that she’s never confessed to Clint about her experience in New Mexico. He knows she was there, he knows what happened from his own role in it but... she’s always been careful to not sleep around him. She’s usually the one staying up and watching for his nightmares so how would he know about her own nightmares?

Darcy closes her eyes. She thinks maybe later she will feel bad for keeping a part of herself hidden from him, but right now, she’s focusing on her breathing and on keeping her heart calm and not on  _ fire and death and _ ... “New Mexico. I was there when the giant Robot of Death came after Thor and near destroyed the town. It was....” She can’t think of a word, one single word to sum up everything so she settles on, “scary.”

“Oh, Darce, shit.”

“There was uncontrollable fire, heat everywhere and sometimes.... Sometimes it visits me in my dreams. Burns through the people I love before coming for me.” Darcy clenches and unclenches her hands. “Sometimes, when I see fire, it takes me back there. It happened tonight at the restaurant and David laughed at me.”

“Asshole David,” Clint growls. “Why haven’t you told me about this before tonight?”

“It never came up,” Darcy answers with very little hesitation. Clint doesn’t have to say ‘bullshit,’ his eyes are saying it loud enough for her to hear. “You had enough going on without me piling on. Focusing on you helped me uh, ignore my issues.”

“Healthy coping mechanism,” Clint says.

“Pot. Kettle.” Darcy punches her pillow up against the headboard and leans back with a sigh. “This sucks.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clint asks as he mirrors her pose, leaning against his own pillow. Darcy is shaking her head before he even finishes the question. “Do you want to talk about our relationship?”

Darcy covers her face with her hands to cover her rising blush and continues shaking her head. She’s expecting Clint to laugh it off, maybe avoid the topic entirely. It wouldn’t be surprising, at least given her experience with past relationships. The friends-to-lovers thing seems to only go well in the movies. Her options weren’t great. She could brush it off as platonic love (and commit herself to shoving her Feelings down into a tiny locked safe in her heart). She could be strong and admit her love for him- but the last thing she felt tonight was strong. 

“I love you.” Clint’s words break through her frantic thoughts. “Probably since the day after... Well, since you called me Hot Arms. You’re so fucking beautiful; you’re the strongest person I know.”

Darcy is staring at him open-mouthed, but at that, she snorts out a “Yeah, okay.” Because, really, she’s seen his teammates. 

“Darce, you’re strong in ways that take more than technology, training, or superpowers.” Clint grins. “And you can put up with my shit which makes you almost angelic.”

She’s glowing, soaking in his words like a starving plant and  _ holy hell _ is this what love was like when it was fully requited? 

“I love you, too. Your strengths and faults and horrible taste in movies.” This time, their kiss has that longed-for movie magic quality. The world around them dims and it’s only them, only now, only the touch of lips and tongues and breath mingling.

He’s smiling at her and she can’t help but smile back- but it’s tense around the edges. The panic has died, but the memories of what she had witnessed remain. In a quiet desperation to remind herself that she was alive, that he was whole, she slips her hand under the hem of his shirt to press fingers against the muscles of his stomach. He only stops her for a second to ask if she’s sure, which is both hot and frustrating. 

“Clothes. Off.” She growls as she leans in to recapture his lips. He’s quick to obey, stripping off his own shirt then reaching for her’s. They are wholly focused on one another and she’s sure this is the best possible way this night could end. 

Darcy doesn’t tell him that he dies in her dream, but she thinks maybe he understands from the way she focuses on running a hand over his very-much-alive-and-well-shaped chest. She nips at the skin above his heart (still beating, still alive.) His arms are phenomenal when paired with the rest of his well-toned body, but he’s far from model perfect. A roadmap of scars and bruises mark his skin. She explores him with teeth and lips and hands, grasping for the real to avoid the dream.

Clint is the balm to her desperate exploration. His hands are gentle, reverent even, in response. His smiles and her need and...

It’s cliche, maybe, that sex helps reaffirm life. Darcy finds that she no longer gives a shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kotyonok- kitten, at least I hope. Oh, Google, don't let me down. ;)


	4. I’m Trying to get Some Glimpse of Grace

When the morning sun rises high enough to shine into their eyes, they’ve made no promises to one another. They have admitted love, explored one another’s bodies, whispered sweet nothings into the darkness, but they have yet to apply a label. Darcy figures maybe it’s for the best as she watches him amble naked into her bathroom for a quick shower.

She shoves on clothes that don’t match and heads to the kitchen for a life-saving pot of coffee. Clint is singing in the bathroom and thankfully, she isn’t close enough to hear the words. He’s fond of the classic earworms and sings them just well enough to get them stuck in her head at all times. The man takes a longer shower than she does. By the time he is out, she’s toasted a bagel to add to her second cup of coffee. 

He’s texting- slowly, with one thumb- while he towels off his hair. Already dressed in his mission blacks, she knows he’s almost halfway out the door. 

“Want some coffee?” She offers from her perch on the counter. Clint looks up, looks regretful, looks beautiful dammit.

“Nah. Time to pay the piper for leaving last night,” Clint grimaces before dropping his towel on the kitchen floor. He steps up between her legs and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a quick kiss. The smell of her own shampoo and the musky scent of his clothes surround her. He presses a kiss to the top of Darcy’s head as she squeezes him tight. “I’ve been summoned. Apparently, Natasha wasn’t able to invent a good enough reason for us to have abandoned our posts.”

“Don’t let the muggles get you down. I’m sure Tash and I can take on anyone who gives you a hard time.” She goes for light and airy, but worries it comes out more sad. “Take a brownie for the road?” Darcy points to the remaining brownies from their pan last night, already packaged in a handy zip top bag. He grins and grabs it before he’s out the door and back to his spy-sassin handlers. 

Darcy allows herself ten minutes of moping, considering one night stands and hearts and staring at her refrigerator with blank eyes and holding her now cold coffee. After ten minutes, her butt has gone numb and her brain is back online. It’s Sunday, but there are always things need doing at the lab. She will just bury her confused emotions in work. Displacement, denial.... distraction. She knows herself well enough to recognize her poor coping mechanisms.

~

Jane is also at the lab,  _ quelle grande surprise _ , studying something in a book and clicking through an article on the computer. Darcy grabs the cold and possibly sentient cup of coffee from under Jane’s nose and replaces it with a clean and fresh mug. She also slides a warm pastry under her friend’s nose (Bless whoever left that box of danishes in the breakroom). Jane eats it, brushing the crumbs from the book before grabbing a pen from her hair to make notes on.... a Chinese takeout menu? Darcy sighs and shoves a white lined pad under Jane’s hand and the woman lets out a shriek in response.

“Jeez, fine, you can keep writing on the menu. Crappers, lady, whatever you want!” Darcy puts the menu back down beside Jane and holds her hands up in surrender.

“Darcy!” Jane is panting, a hand held delicately to her chest like every southern woman depicted in film ever. “When did you come in? Is it Monday already?” Jane swivels to look at the computer display.

“Dude, I just got you coffee and a pastry....” Darcy trails off. “Nevermind. I’ve been here for a bit and no, it’s not Monday.” She eases forward and puts two fingers on the menu. “Can I have this to transcribe?”

Jane scratches at her head, already pulled back to whatever was on the computer. “Yeah.... yeah, that’d be great. There are some other notes on your desk as well.” And with that, she’s gone- sucked back into Science!

Darcy puts in headphones, cranks her Bluegrass Blues playlist and moves into Work Mode. Her digital notes system is something to behold and she absolutely loves adding to it. Before Jane, she never would have considered herself a well-organized person. After Jane, she realized she could almost be classified as a Type A personality in comparison. It thrilled her to take Jane’s chaos and reign it into a manageable document with searchable tabs and charts. 

Three loose notes remained on her desk, but she tucked the ones she had finished with into the Giant File of Jane notes, categorized by date, as filing by content was near impossible. The three remaining notes each had scrawled handwriting that even Darcy’s years of practice could not decipher. She would wait until around 2pm, then stop Jane for lunch and ask her about the scribbles then. 

Jane got up to run to the restroom- near abouts the only thing that could shake her from her focus- and Darcy pounced. She saved the article with a bookmark of the page Jane was on, then locked the computer. The articles were put into a drawer she assumed Jane didn’t know existed. The lined notepad traveled over to her desk, though she left only the pages that had been written on and returned the clean pad to Jane’s desk. 

By the time Jane returned, Darcy had her all packed up and ready to leave. Jane looked at her workspace then at Darcy and heaved a sigh. “Darcy...” Jane started to whine but Darcy remained straight-faced. “You are the reason I haven’t been published. I blame you. Dishonor on you!” She glared, but she also grabbed her purse from Darcy’s outstretched hand.

“Mean. And untrue. Dishonor on your cow!” Darcy stuck out her tongue. “Let’s go for food. C’mon Science Queen.”

Darcy has a side quest to keep Jane out of the lab as often as possible on weekends. The scientist can work to her heart's content during the week, but Darcy fundamentally objects to Jane not taking a break every now and again. They choose a deli two blocks from the lab and sit eating salads facing the street. She manages to get Jane to decipher specific words from her notes without being sucked into the ideas on the page. In celebration, Darcy orders a huge cookie and splits it with her friend.

“Are you still fighting with your end table?” Darcy asks around a bite of yummy snickerdoodle.

“Yes; the damned thing has recruited the couch and the vacuum to do it’s dirty work as well.” Jane tries to hold a pout but can’t contain her grin. “Seriously, I think I’ve broken a toe or two in the last week alone.”

“The way I see it, you’ve got two options: Move it back to where it was by the window,” Jane shakes her head vehemently. “Or, we get a table to replace the offending one. Show the rest of your possessions we mean business and won’t be taking their shit anymore.”

Jane nods sagely and brushes at a few crumbs resting on her pants. “I like that second option. There is that second hand store down by that one Thai place we haven’t checked out yet.”

She manages to keep Jane out of the lab for the rest of the afternoon. They discuss the relative merits of any tables they find, compiling character profiles based on material and design. Jane’s got a wild creative streak and gets on a roll describing the backstory of a black walnut side table. She’s so much into her story, she doesn’t notice the lamp until it’s wobbling on its base and tipping over. Darcy manages to catch it between fits of giggles, but they wind up being asked to leave by the owner.

They ultimately decide that all of the available tables look just as vindictive as the one in Jane’s apartment, anyway. Darcy suggests Jane provide the table with better reading material, maybe even a trashy gossip mag instead of astrophysics articles. “Trashy mags can distract even the most stubborn of grudge matches. I learned it in college.” Darcy promises. 

Jane shrugs off the suggestion with a laugh, but Darcy notices her swerve towards a newsstand as they part ways. 

~

Clint is being punished by being sent on a babysitting gig up God’s Butthole, direct quote, and swings by to kiss her goodbye later that week. 

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone this time. Tasha isn’t coming with me, haven’t gotten a lot of details.” He’s got her backed against the kitchen counter, where they’ve been making out for the past fifteen minutes. His fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck and she near purrs. “Is this weird?”

She presses a kiss to his jaw and tries to use her words. “Is what weird?”

“Us, kissing.” Clint leans back, trying to put distance between them. “Us, in general.”

Darcy nips at his bottom lip. “It’s only weird if you keep talking. You said you’ve only got another half hour before you leave. Let’s not waste it with words.” She takes pleasure in the speed with which they wind up in her room, naked and twisted in her sheets. She takes pleasure in a lot of facets of his personality, actually. 

They manage to forget the world exists for thirty minutes until Clint’s phone buzzes a violent vibrating pattern to remind him to meet his ride. 

His serious look is back as he pulls on his clothes to leave. “Darce, we do need to talk.”

“And we will- when you get back. Get going, Hot Arms. Stay safe,” Darcy taps his ass on her way to shower, dismissing him without a true goodbye. 

~

It’s approaching a week since Clint left, and she walks into the lab to find a wrapped present at her workstation. Jane hasn’t made it in yet, the lights are all off, and the door is still locked when she enters. The gift definitely hadn’t been there the evening before. 

Darcy circles her workstation, examining the gift carefully before getting any closer. It’s wrapped in a kraft paper with a repeating floral pattern in pinks and purples. There’s a bow that almost dwarves the gift in matching pink and purple tulle. She notices a tag hanging from the tulle, also in matching pink and purple. 

She uses a pen to flip the tag around so she can read it without getting too close. Darcy’s not sure anyone would ever target her for an explosive or in some way harmful gift, but she had pissed David off last week and she was friends with a god. Caution bred comfort.

“For next time. ~Natasha”

......The gift was from Natasha and that was a new and exciting reason to be cautious. She steps closer to the gift, examining the bow and paper with more curiosity. Why would Natasha be dropping off gifts for her? Though, now it’s presence in a locked lab made sense. Locked doors would not stop the Black Widow. 

She was still fiddling with the tag when Jane walked in. Without pausing to examine her motives, Darcy shoved the gift in a drawer with her purse and set about opening the lab for the day. (And by opening the lab, she meant making coffee.)

The day seemed to drag by, with the pressure of the unknown gift pulling at Darcy. When she misfiles a note for the fifth time, she saves her page and shuts down.

“Hey, Jane, I’m ducking early. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Darcy calls as she power walks out the door, the gift in her arms. Banking on the fact that Jane won’t look up, she’s relieved to not hear any shouted questions as she grabs the elevator down. The walk home seems to pass in a blur, though it’s most probably her preoccupation with the wrapped gift in her hands. 

Once home, she sets the gift on her coffee table and heads back to her bedroom to change into comfort clothes. Then armed with a glass of cheap wine, she sits down to tackle the unwrapping. 

The bow gets discarded beside her on the couch. The paper comes off in careful folds; she’s definitely saving it. It’s too beautiful to rip apart. When she opens the flap of the box, she’s confronted with a beautiful silver mixing bowl full of baking supplies. Chocolates, nuts, and all sorts of sprinkles; baking mixes and a cute red spatula- it’s all packaged beautifully. Natasha must be the secret Martha Stewart of the Avengers. 

It’s a great gift in general and a pretty okay apology if that’s what Natasha had intended it as. Darcy takes the goodies into her kitchen and begins planning what she could make with them. She doesn’t take advantage and bake that night, though she does spend an hour rearranging her baking cabinet to contain the new gifts. 

She wonders briefly what the protocol is for super secret spy gifts. Should she write a thank you card and leave it on her desk at work? Darcy figures she will ask Clint the next time he calls. He knows Natasha and she wouldn't want to step on her toes over a thoughtful gift. Plus, she had said ‘next time,’ which implied she would be back for a baking night at Darcy’s place, right?

It's a long night but when her alarm goes off the next morning, she is grateful that New Mexico hasn't visited her dreams. 

~

Clint calls briefly, wakes her up after midnight on a Sunday which sucks but is also nice because she misses his face. She’s yawning into the phone as he tells her about the rich daughter of some muckety-muck that he’s babysitting. Darcy tries for sympathetic, but really, the gal has her own top-of-the-line gym and Clint is sleeping on fluffy pillows and down comforters so it’s clearly not torture. 

“I had a bad night the other day,” Clint confesses and Darcy sits up straighter. “Woke up drenched in sweat and my heart pounding...” She lets the silence stretch, though it kills her. He’s never shared like this; not without being right in front of her and wrapped in blankets on her couch. “I wound up making no bake cookies to keep my mind busy. Used all of the peanut butter in this place, but it definitely helped.”

“I’m glad.” she’s near whispering. Maybe they had stumbled upon a workable mechanism; though, how often would he find himself with a handy kitchen? “Maybe we should look into finding you someone to talk with when you get back.”

“Maybe you should talk to me about why the word ‘love’ scares the shit out of you.” Clint counters.

Darcy sputters, holds the phone away from her face to glare at it then protests. “I’m not scared of love.”

“Bullshit.” Clint barks.

“I’m not! I am scared that a relationship with you would just be another way for you to hide from your problems.” It comes out in a rush and Darcy braces herself against the silence crackling over the line.

He sighs. “Fair point. I hate it, but you’ve got a point.” He heaves a frustrated groan. “I hate it. I love you. I’d be willing to see someone if it meant I could prove to you my feelings were solely about you and not about escaping my past. Okay?”

“Okay. I love you, too.” Something lightens in her heart to say it out loud. Thinking it was one thing, but saying it out loud is quite another. 

“Maybe we could...look at some names. Maybe go together.” Clint says, tiptoeing to his point. “I’m not the only one who could stand to work through some things.”

Darcy is suddenly bone tired. “I see how you operate, mister.” and then, because she’s tired of pretending the anxiety doesn’t exist and maybe it would be nice to finally exorcise her  giant, fiery robot demons, she agrees. “That’s a good plan. We should do that.”

~

Later, she Googles the symptoms of PTSD. It’s easy enough for her to have read a bulleted list and decide that each one lined up with Clint. It’s another animal entirely to concede that perhaps a few of them line up with her own experience. She makes it down half of one article before she slams the lid of her laptop shut. The dreams, the fire, the blame.... She takes a shuddering breath and shuffles into the kitchen to make herself a pot of tea. 

If half the bottle of bourbon winds up in the pot as well, she isn’t complaining.

It helps numb her off to sleep. She only wakes up once in the night, panting and sweating and reaching for safety. Cat videos and Tumblr keep her occupied until her alarm goes off. She grabs a large latte on her way in and pretends everything is just fine, _thank you_ , when Jane asks after her weekend.

~

It’s Thursday and Clint promises he will be home within the next few days. Darcy swears she has seen Natasha twice out of the corner of her eye but when she mentioned it to Clint, he shrugged it off. Maybe it’s guilt that has her seeing the Black Widow around corners. After all, Natasha is stealth personified; she wouldn’t let Darcy catch sight of her if she were truly keeping an eye on her. She wants him home so that they can all have lunch together and reestablish the even keel they had been on before. 

She craves a pastrami sandwich.

Jane is silently working when Darcy arrives, not that it surprises her. She’s already staring at a series of readouts from a machine in the lab space across the hall. Darcy leaves her to it and logs into her own workstation to catch up on the office gossip. It’s a never-ending treasure trove of reply all rants and tattles. The building all seem to have very distinct Thoughts on what should happen in the communal areas. Darcy tries to keep her floor’s coffee pot clean and fresh, but other floors aren’t so lucky- at least according to the latest string of complaints. 

Throughout the day, Darcy looks up and notices Jane staring out into space, her pen still tucked behind her ear. It isn’t enough by itself to worry her, but as the morning passes into the afternoon, she hears Jane shove things aside and stand up.

“We need to talk.” Jane announces suddenly. Darcy notices the clock has just tiptoed past the lunch hour. 

“I don’t like your tone, Boss Lady. Do I need to be worried?” Darcy swivels in her chair to face Jane. She had been joking initially, but Jane has shut down her workspace and is standing there staring at Darcy. “Whoa. Officially worried. Are you dying? Is Thor dying?”

“No! Nothing like that.” Jane forces a smile, but it stretches across her face all wrong. “We just...I need to talk to you about something and I want to do it away from the lab.”

Darcy nods slowly, shutting down her computer without looking at her monitor. Her eyes rove over her boss and friend, looking for...she doesn’t even know what. Injuries? New cult tattoos? Alien tech? “Okay.” Darcy stands up with her purse in hand. “Where do you want to have this conversation then?”

“Pho?” Jane chews on her lip and waits for Darcy to agree. Darcy’s worry level ratchets up. Something is bugging her friend and she wants to fight whatever it is that is worrying her. She almost insists on holding Jane’s hand as they make their way down to the lobby, but she resists the urge. Barely.

The walk to their favorite pho place is quiet- between them at least. New York is not a quiet place. There was always noise. Except for 3am in a subway car, alone with just the one other creepy man across the way who may or may not be leering. That was pretty quiet and disquieting. Darcy’s thoughts are racing around one another.

It isn’t until they’re seated, served, and eating that the silence breaks. 

“I think..... Well, I mean, that is I know that I need to go back to New Mexico.” Jane says into her bowl. Darcy’s head goes fuzzy and a buzzing noise grows in her ears; she knows Jane is explaining something about a paper and an anomaly and a conference but she can’t pick out the individual words. She swears she can smell the sizzling heat of fire.

“You don’t have to come with me. I can borrow someone to help with the equipment. I just have been worried about telling you and it’s not fair to you to hide it from you and you know....yeah.” Jane finishes before finally looking at Darcy. Darcy is gripping her fork so tight her knuckles have gone white. “Darcy?”

The sound of her name breaks through her fog. “Uh, yeah, right. New Mexico. Okay.”

Jane is staring at her and Darcy knows that she knows. Jane had been there for the first of Darcy’s nightmares, when they were still in the state, when Darcy was trying frantically to get Jane poached by a company that would send them anywhere- ANYWHERE- but New Mexico. It’s not so much that she blames the whole state for what transpired in the desert. It’s just that the desert is the backdrop for every horrible image that has ever haunted her. 

“You aren’t invited. You don’t have to go.” Jane says again and then, very purposefully, eats a large bite as if to prove everything is normal and fine. 

“You don’t get to make my choices for me.” Darcy bites out. It might be a case of her mouth cashing checks her body can’t cover, but Darcy is immediately defensive. “You jump, I jump Jack. That’s how this works.” She focuses very consciously on her breathing as she narrows her gaze at Jane.

“Darce,” Jane’s apologetic. “I don’t think you can handle....”

“Fuck you, Jane. I decide what I can and can’t handle.” Darcy throws her napkin on the table and leans back from the table with another vehement. “Fuck.”

She thinks Jane may be close to tears, and any other day that would eat at Darcy. However, anger has her blinded and lashing out. She’s lost her appetite, lost her ability to be in a public space. 

When she pushes back from the table Jane stands too. “No.” Darcy snarls and throws bills down on the table. 

That’s how she leaves her best friend.

She never could get the hang of Thursdays.

~

Her steaming anger simmers as she stomps her way home. She gets perverse pleasure from elbowing a few men out of her way as she steamrolls her way through crowds. Move it or lose it, assholes. The sidewalk is for walking, not gawking.

But halfway to her building, she’s abandoned by the warmth of righteous indignation. All that’s left is guilt and a shuddering shake that grabs her just as suddenly as the anger had. 

Shit.

New Mexico.

Shit.

Darcy moves to a building and leans against the grubby exterior, fighting the feeling of absolutely losing it out here on the street. Tears are welling in her eyes and why couldn’t she have held onto the anger for a bit longer? She hates crying; hates it with a passion. She’s got her hands pressed to her face when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.

It could be Jane and she wants to ignore it, but it could be important. She pulls it out and swipes open the display to see a text from Clint.

_ What’s wrong? _

A tremulous smile graces her lips as the first tears fall. What isn’t wrong?

~~


	5. Would You Offer Amnesty?

_Can I call you?_

Darcy’s text is an almost immediate response to Clint’s question. She hopes that he is available. She needs to hear someone tell her she’s strong; right now she feels too weak to walk home.

Her phone rings in her hands before her screen has had time to lock.

“Thank you.” She says instead of hello.

His laugh is gentle, concerned. “You’re uh welcome, I guess.” Darcy jumps as a horn blares in the street and remembers she’s only halfway home. “Where are you?” Clint’s question echoes her realization.

“On my way home,” Darcy answers and shifts the phone to her other ear as she starts walking again.

“Darce, I love you and I definitely want to talk about whatever it is that has put tears in your voice- but I need you to call me back when you reach your apartment,” Clint says. “You need to be aware of your surroundings when you’re walking alone and you can’t do that and talk on the phone, okay?”

Darcy laughs and shakes her head. “Yes, dad. Are you sure you can talk when I get home?”

“I’ll be right here waiting.” His promise sends warm tingles through her body and she hangs up already feeling better.

~

She throws her purse down and kicks off her shoes right inside the door. After dragging herself to the couch, she dials Clint as she sinks into the cushions.

“Hi,” she greets when he answers.

“Hey,” his voice is soft, comforting. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Darcy laughs, but it’s watery with the remnants of her tears.

“Darce...” Clint trails off.

“Jane is going back to New Mexico.” She blurts out.

Clint is silent for a heartbeat, two. “Shit.”

“That’s what I said.” Darcy chews at her thumbnail. “I have to go with her.”

“Okay.” And she both loves him and hates him for agreeing. Why couldn’t he fight her on this, give her some excuse for refusing to go? But he respects her decisions enough to agree when she says she has to go. Ugh. Men.

She may have said that last part out loud because Clint laughs. “I would argue with you, but I think it may help.”

“How could this possibly help? I’m safe in my apartment in New York fucking City, and just thinking about New Mexico has my knees weak and my heart going crazy.” Darcy takes a deep breath, trying for calm.

“Maybe the heart thing is just because you’re talking to me?” Clint offers and she can hear the quirk of a smile over the line. “Look, it won’t be easy but... I’ve heard that facing your fears can help. I can’t face mine down, as he’s off planet, but you have a chance to look at the desert and overcome the memories.” His words make sense and Darcy examines the options.

Run and hide or stand up and fight....

“I can see if I can take leave and come with you.” Clint offers and Darcy refuses before he’s even finished speaking.

“No.” She’s reaching for her laptop. “No. If I’m going to face my fears, it can’t be with you as a crutch. I can do this.”

“Yes, you can.” Clint changes the subject and talks to her- in vague generalities- about the location he’s at and the work he’s doing. While he talks she hacks into Jane’s email; er, well, she logs into Jane’s email because the woman uses the same three passwords for everything. She finds the dates Jane has blacked out for the New Mexico trip and before she has time to think too much, she’s purchased two tickets to New Mexico.

Darcy forwards Jane the receipt email, files for reimbursement from the Accounting department, then hangs up on Clint to go bake cookies. She makes Lemon Cheesecake cookies, Jane’s favorite, and packages most of them up as an apology after they cool.

Later that night, she sees Jane has read her email but hasn’t responded. Not that she expected anything. Darcy will need to apologize, maybe even grovel tomorrow. She doesn’t sleep much, if at all, but stays out on her couch until her alarm blares.

~

She starts Friday off by meeting Jane at her apartment with scones still warm from the specialty bakery Jane prefers and the largest latte Darcy could juggle. Jane greets her at the door with a sigh and grabby hands.

“The foam spelled out ‘sorry’ but I definitely jostled it too much.” Jane has a mouthful of scone, but she pulls Darcy in for a hug. “Also, I made lemon cookies.” Darcy places the container on Jane’s counter then turns back to the door.

They walk to work together and Jane carefully explains the itinerary she’s tentatively planned for Puente Antiguo. There’s an old SHIELD lab leftover from the excitement of Thor’s arrival; someone had been monitoring the equipment remotely and had noticed serious fluctuations. When the information got back to Jane through some fun Science!Bro channels, Jane was able to corroborate the blips with her own machinery. There’s a bonus of a conference happening in Albuquerque, run by an old professor that opined Jane would never make it anywhere in their field. She’s been invited to be a keynote, and really, she couldn’t refuse the chance to rub the old coot’s face in her success.

Darcy makes notes in her phone calendar to obtain hotel rooms in Albuquerque- and maybe a rental car. She spends the day planning. The more she plans, the less frightening it seems. She can totally do this.

~

In the wee hours of Saturday morning, Darcy screams when there’s a knock at her window. She is sitting on her couch, staring blindly at the television as it plays through those horrible paid programming ads. Her heart calms down a tiny fraction when she sees it’s Clint. She unlocks and opens the window, then punches him on the shoulder as he climbs in and closes it.

“Ow! What’s with the hitting?” Clint grimaces and drops his bag by the window.

“Because, you jerk, you scared the shit out of me.” Darcy grouses and crosses her arms.

He steps forward, crowds her space, smiles. She begrudgingly accepts his kiss, angles for another. “Hello,” he whispers against her lips.

“Hey yourself,” Darcy whispers back with a smile. “You’re back.”

“I’m back. And hopefully for the long run,” Clint grins, They both collapse onto the couch as Darcy shoots him a quizzical glance. “It seems Tash and I have made a nuisance of ourselves by becoming too well known and potentially too hard to handle for these covert missions. We’ve been advised to lay low here in New York for the next three months pending any emergency situations.”

“Holy crap, that’s great!” Darcy claps. “We can actually make dinner plans and shit.”

“Exactly.” Clint smiles. “And I’ll be here to pick you up when you get back from New Mexico.” Darcy’s face falls at the mention of New Mexico. “Exposure to the thing you fear is a valid therapeutic strategy.” He parrots.

“Yeah, thanks, Dr. Google. I read that too.” Darcy sighs. “I mean, logically I know that there won’t be a giant Robot of Death waiting for us when we roll into town, but still...”

“You have this fear in the back of your head that you can’t actually trust what your brain is telling you?” Darcy looks at him with wide eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know anything about that feeling. Not at all.”

“Sarcasm is not as attractive as you may think.” Darcy snipes, but she’s grinning at him. “After I face my fears and go to New Mexico, you need to find someone to talk to about Loki. I’m serious. There are things you need to work through that I can’t help you with- you need a person to confide in who can work with you.”

“Darce....” He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, but if he thought this conversation would only be one sided, he underestimated Darcy. “I’ve been looking into it. A few people have recommended this one doc, but he’s a hypnotherapist. Swears he can help you confront your past and come out a better man.”

“If it will help you, you need to promise me you will try.” Darcy shifts to face him on the couch. “Promise me.”

“Darcy, I hereby promise I will go and see the wackadoodle hypnotherapist in the hopes it will help.” Clint holds up his right hand to vow, then pulls at her hand. “C’mon, now. I want to watch Great British Bake Off.” He pulls her down to lay her head in his lap and turns on the baking show.

Darcy falls asleep on the couch and manages to catch a full 6 hours with Clint there to guard her.

~

Darcy wakes up in her bed, laying against Clint. At some point, he either carried her here or she sleep-walked her way to the bedroom. He’s propped up against his pillow, shirt off, talking to someone on the phone.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” Clint is saying. “It’s going to be hard enough...”

Whoever is on the other end is arguing.

“No, I’m not trying to keep her from you, Christ.” Clint sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. “Tash, it’s up to her. No, you can’t talk to her; she’s asleep.... That’s coercion. I’ll ask her when she wakes up.” He pauses to listen to whatever Natasha is saying. “It’s her choice.”

Darcy shifts to roll over and Clint tenses before telling Natasha goodbye and hanging up.

“Morning.” she greets him with a smile.

“Morning.” He returns her smile and slides the phone back onto the nightstand.

“Natasha called?” She asks, stretching, tangling herself up in the loose sheets.

Clint slides down to lay next to her, gathers her in his arms. “Natasha called. She’s invited us to breakfast.”

“Oh,” Darcy says and then yawns before she can complete her thought. Her sleep deficit is getting the best of her.

Clint takes her pause as reluctance and jumps to fill the silence with words. “She wants to apologize I think. For the uh, interrogation. I know she feels bad about it. She’s trying to use breakfast to gain your forgiveness...”

Darcy laughs. “You had me at breakfast, dude. And I would like to see Natasha. She left me a gift I’d like to thank her for...and I don’t think I’m that mad at her anymore.” She too trails off. She’s _not_ still the blinding mad she had been immediately following Natasha’s harsh words. Mostly, life has been more exhausting than usual lately and Darcy just did not have the energy to hold on to some misplaced grudge. After examining it closely, she thought she could almost understand Natasha’s motivations, though the execution was poorly handled.

“Yeah?” Clint asks.

“Yeah.” Darcy confirms and gets up to get ready for the day. Clint is texting, she assumes Natasha to confirm breakfast plans.

She considers her closet, deciding what to wear. Darcy chooses clothes as armor, clothing herself in pieces that make her feel confident, sexy, strong. She may not be mad at Natasha but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to completely let down her guard. Her jeans hug her curves and her shirt dips low to show off her cleavage. Tasteful but sexy. She puts on a necklace and two rings, more armor to wear then heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and swipe lipstick over her lips.

When she’s dressed and ready to conquer the day, or maybe just the intimidating specter of Natasha Romanov, she finds Clint dressed in green cargo pants and a snug fitting gray shirt. She wolf whistles and swears he almost blushes. It’s perfect; this is perfect.

~

Natasha is waiting for them outside of the restaurant. There’s a line formed, but she has already secured a table inside. There is a carafe of coffee waiting and Darcy falls upon it immediately. When she’s gulped down half the mug, she looks up to find both Clint and Natasha looking at her. They are holding themselves very still, and Darcy wonders if they know how strongly they mirror one another. They are both worried she will reject Natasha for hurting Darcy in her attempt to protect Clint.

“Hi!” She waves shyly, still gripping the mug near her face. With one last sip, she places it back on the table and notices there aren’t any menus to peruse. “Thank you for the baking goods. You’ll have to help us use them.”

“No need for thanks, it was an apology for-”

Darcy breaks in. “Whatever it is, it’s great and I appreciate it.” She thinks that maybe apologies are hard for Natasha and at this point, it’s largely unimportant that she hear the words said aloud. Natasha’s actions were to protect Clint, and Darcy understands that need- at least now that time has distanced them from that night. Darcy Lewis: the forgiving sort. Who knew?

“I’ve ordered a spread for us; my treat.” Natasha announces. A platter of croissants, cheese, and fruit conveniently arrives as she speaks. “I thought we might all share.” She seems the slightest bit uncomfortable, though her face and voice are unruffled.

“I’m okay with that.” Darcy offers, extending a verbal olive branch as she grabs a croissant. “It’s fine with me.” Clint stiffens next to her at her words but doesn’t say anything. It takes a beat, two for him to relax after that. Darcy rubs soothing circles on his thigh. She’s not sure what’s making him tense but she wants to help.

After the fruit and cheese tray comes a platter of breakfast meats that Clint grabs half of and then a pitcher of mimosas.

Darcy pours herself a tall glass, downs it and pours another.

Clint glares at Natasha, but she only shrugs. “She needs fortification for her coming trial.”

“Oh, he told you?” Darcy looks between the two. She had thought she could maintain a masquerade of being strong in front of Natasha; apparently she already knew her weakness.

“Yes. He told me of your choice to face down your fears in New Mexico.” Natasha nods. “It’s brave of you, _kotyonok._ ”

“I don’t feel brave.” Darcy confesses, spearing a strawberry with her fork.

“You will once you’ve done it and see how strong you are.” Clint says. “You are amazing.” Darcy almost glows at the compliment. She’s good at building herself up and definitely doesn’t need no man telling her things, but it still feels nice to hear it. There’s a blush growing on her face, she can feel it.

“I’d like to come with you, when he drops you off at the airport. Unless you’d rather it be a private moment...” Natasha is looking between her and Clint, an eyebrow quirked.

“Uh, no, it doesn’t need to be a private moment. You can come too.” Darcy smiles. “You could teach me the many different ways the things in my carry on can be weapons. It’ll be a fun thing to focus on in the plane instead of the destination.” Clint and Darcy hadn’t actually discussed him coming with her to the airport, but apparently now it was a group field trip.

“It’s a great exercise in creativity. I’ll prepare a list for you.” Natasha grins and- just damn- it’s unfair that Clint and Natasha are so fucking hot. Darcy leans into Clint and smiles at Natasha’s offer. When Clint wraps his arm around her shoulder, she feels content; not anxious, or mad, or scared, or manic....just content, edging on into happy.

Natasha leaves the table to take care of the bill when they’ve finished all they can handle of the breakfast spread. Darcy swallows the last of her third mimosa, a pleasant bubbling tipsiness building in her brain.

“I don’t want to go back home.” Darcy confesses to Clint.

“We could go shopping. I know a few spots that are a paradise for secondhand finds.” Natasha offers from behind them. She had snuck up so quietly, Darcy jumped.

“I don’t need anything....but I wouldn’t mind looking.” Darcy smiles up at Clint.

He rolls his eyes and smiles in return. “Fine, I’m down for following you two around all afternoon.”

“You just want to stare at her ass as she walks.” Natasha accuses and Darcy laughs out loud when Clint just nods, no shame. These two are boosting her morale today; just what she needs days before confronting her past.

~

“Are you mad at me for telling Tash about New Mexico?” Clint pulls her aside to ask as they exit the restaurant.

“No; she’s your partner. You share things. I...I get it.” Darcy answers. She actually felt better about the whole thing after talking to Natasha, and an afternoon of mindless shopping would help take her mind off everything. Whatever type of relationship she and Clint agree on, Natasha will always be a huge part of his life. Their lives literally depend on their close bond.

Clint wraps a hand around her waist and presses a kiss to her head as they follow Natasha to the first of many small storefronts. Darcy takes note a few places, seeing things Jane would look great in. It’s the third place they’re in when Darcy comes across a leather and silver bracelet that catches her eye.

Natasha and Clint had wandered off, so Darcy gives into indulgence and asks the store clerk to open the case. He puts it out on the counter and then turns back to his office and the game on the television. She reaches out to finger it without thinking. The leather is supple, smooth to the touch. She’s sure it smells strongly of leather; the scent of leather always made her smile, reminding her of summers at the renaissance faire. Heat and sweat and lace and leather all combining with the calming scents of sandalwood and patchouli.

She’s gripping the bracelet in her hand, running her finger along the silver engravable plate when Natasha comes up behind her.

“That’s lovely.” Natasha comments, looking over the bracelet.

“Yeah; it reminds me of summers and this leather corset I had for the renaissance faire...” Darcy shrugs off the thought with a laugh. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have a budget for things like this.”

“Does it make you happy?” Natasha lifts the bracelet carefully from Darcy’s fingers, then takes Darcy’s wrist in her hand. She slips the bracelet onto Darcy and settles it snuggly, twisting her wrist gently to watch the silver catch the light. “It looks like it fits perfectly.” Darcy is mesmerized by the strong, lean fingers enveloping her wrist.

“Y-yeah.” It does fit perfectly, the leather is warm and the silver cool and Natasha’s fingers are somewhere between the two extremes.

“We can have it engraved, here. _Kotyonok._ Just for you _.”_ Natasha’s finger strokes lightly across the silver plate, lightly brushing Darcy’s skin in the process and shivers rush up Darcy’s arm.

“Wh-what does that mean, anyway?” Darcy swallows to clear her suddenly dry mouth. “You’ve called me that before and it doesn’t sound mean but...”

“Kitten.” Natasha answers, still holding onto Darcy’s wrist. “It’s the codename Clint and I use when discussing you.”

“Because I’m weak and need protecting?” Darcy’s shoulders slump and she tries to keep the hurt out of her voice, really she tries.

“Because you purr when I pet you,” Clint is behind her and he wraps an arm around her waist as he speaks. She leans into him as he trails a hand down her arm to join Natasha’s gripping her wrist. “It does look like it was made for you. Would you wear it if we got it for you?” His breath is warm on her ear, and it travels through her, warming her to her toes.

“Would I wear....?” Her brain is stuttering to a stop; too many physical inputs to analyze. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Natasha questions.

“Yes.” Darcy answers, more certainty in her voice. “Please.” Manners matter.

Natasha slips the bracelet off and turns to the counter to call for the clerk to ring her purchase through. As she discusses the price, Clint leads Darcy by the hand through the maze of aisles and back into the bright sunshine.

She’s not sure what just happened in there, but it felt... well, she’s smiling as they stand on the sidewalk. Clint turns back to see her smiling and drops her hand, only to back her against the wall of the shop.

“Christ, you’re amazing.” He curses before capturing her lips in a fiery kiss. Darcy’s toes curl as he cards his finger in her hair. Her hands grasp at his waist, clenching in the fabric of his gray tee shirt.

When they finally come up for air, Clint wastes no time dragging her away from the shop, towards her apartment.

“But what about Natasha?” Darcy asks, planting her feet to stop his progress.

“She’ll understand.” He near growls, and she grins a feral response. Well, okay then.

If Natasha does have any complaints, Darcy never hears of them. They spend the rest of the afternoon locked in her bedroom. Clint calls her kitten as he brings her off with just his fingers and proves to her that she does indeed purr when he pets her just so.


	6. Home Feels a Million Miles Tonight (Reprise)

Jane stays on the phone with her late into the evening the night before they fly to New Mexico. Darcy has left packing for the last minute whether by habit or self-preservation; the frantic flurry of making a list (checking it twice) and fitting everything into a carry-on appropriate duffel takes every bit of brain power she has. There’s just nothing left over to worry about the trip in the midst of stress packing.

Clint doesn’t arrive at her door until 10pm; Jane finally hangs up to sleep at 11pm. She is still checking and rechecking booking confirmations and the contents of her bags until midnight when she finally drops down on to the couch. Darcy wants nothing more than to give into the tears, but Clint has been so certain in his announcing her bravery. How could she give into weakness so close to her goal?

He sits next to her, pulls down one of her many throw blankets from the back of the couch, and swings it around her shoulders. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s completely normal.” She remembers saying similar words to him, but it’s as if they grant her the permission she didn’t know she was needing. The tears slip out and her breath catches. He wraps the blanket snugly around her and then wraps her up in his arms. Clint keeps up a steady stream of comforting words as the tears fade off. Darcy falls into troubled fits of sleep there on the couch; each time she opens her eyes, she finds Clint there- holding her, talking to her, comforting her.

She makes it through the night and greets the morning with bleary, gritty eyes. 

~

When her alarm goes off, Clint greets her with a cup of coffee and a fancy looking makeup bag. She accepts the coffee but eyes the makeup bag warily.

“What exactly is that?” Darcy questions him.

Clint shrugs. “Tasha said you might need these. I didn’t question it, I just brought it like I was told.” Darcy takes the bag- and the coffee- into the bathroom for a shower. 

Makeup is not something Darcy wears with regularity. She enjoys a great lipstick; the pop of color makes her feel bold and beautiful. When she steps out of the shower, she confronts the makeup bag wrapped in her fluffiest towel. Inside is a fancy face cream and an under eye mask purported to bring down puffiness. 

She smiles at the thoughtful gift and sticks the under eye patches on as she brushes her teeth. When she’s finished styling her hair, she takes off the patches and finds that as advertised it has reduced the red and puffy I’ve-been-crying-all-night look she had been rocking. The fancy face cream gives her a dewy fresh look without sitting heavy on her skin and she decides Natasha is the best gift giver ever. She needs to study at the feet of the master because her gifts have never been this on point. 

When the Darcy in the mirror looks ready to face the day, she finally exits the bathroom. Clint is on the couch, her bag next to him and his phone to his ear. He hangs up when she walks in.

“Natasha is on her way up. She brought donuts and coffee.” Clint says. He crosses the room to wrap her in a hug. His arms are tight around her until a knock sounds at the door.

Darcy pushes back and walks over to let Natasha in. “We’re two hours out, so you have time to eat. I’ve got a car scheduled to pick us up in thirty minutes.” Natasha says instead of a greeting.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” Darcy accepts a bag from Natasha and a steaming cup. She sips and finds it a mocha latte. “Yum!” They all sit on the couch and dig into the sugary pastries Natasha brought.

Jane texts to check-in with Darcy.

_ Still okay? _

Darcy shakes her head.

_ Nope, but it’s gotta happen. _

_ Natasha hired a car. She and Clint will drop me off. _

Jane sends back a quick winky face emoticon and a  _ Have fun with that _ . 

Darcy focuses on eating and drinking. When she is out of coffee and the donuts are gone, her knee shakes up and down with the anxiety that is slowly growing, churning in her gut. If she called right now, she could probably dig up an intern to go with Jane. Go hide in her bed and not come out.

Clint puts a hand on her knee to stop the shaking and she looks up at him. “We got you something, a gift.”

Natasha puts a small, black jewelry box on her other knee. Darcy reaches out, opens it to find the leather bracelet from the tiny store. It’s engraved as described with their codename for her.  _ Kotyonok _ . She blushes, remembering Clint whispering the word to her, her fingers tightening around the leather.

When she looks up she finds both of them looking at her expectantly. “Thank you.” She whispers and they both smile. Natasha takes the bracelet from her hand and slips it over her hand; Clint straightens it, making sure it’s snug against her wrist.

“Perfect.” Natasha pronounces.

“I hope it reminds you that we are here waiting for you.” Clint is clasping her hand and it’s hard to make eye contact with him. A short alert sounds from Natasha’s phone, breaking into the moment, and the three head down to meet the car. 

Darcy is sandwiched in the back between Clint and Natasha, her duffle in the trunk and her purse clasped tightly in her lap. She focuses on their warmth; they’re pushed in together, touching from knee to shoulder. It feels like they’re both holding her up; it feels nice.

Natasha hands her a folded piece of computer paper and she finds the promised list of items in her carry-on that can be used as weapons. Her chapstick can apparently be used five different ways to incapacitate someone. She folds the list and tucks it in her carry on for plane reading. It will definitely help distract her on the flight. 

At the airport, the driver drops them at the departures and sits idling, risking the ire of the guards waving traffic through. Natasha wraps Darcy in a quick, tight hug. “You will come through this stronger,  _ kotyonok _ . Be well.” Then she steps back and climbs into the car, leaving Darcy and Clint alone.

He grabs her wrist, presses a kiss to the bracelet there. “We will pick you up in four days and you can tell us all about conquering New Mexico. I’ll be on the other end of the phone whenever you need me.” She steps into his hug, grabs a quick kiss then he’s gone, back in the car.

Jane and New Mexico await.

~

Darcy finds that she sleeps through most of the 6 hour flight. Apparently even with the stress coursing through her system, her body has to sleep sometime and she hasn’t been letting it rest. Jane makes a convenient pillow as she’s engrossed in the programming for the conference on her tablet. 

When she wakes to the landing announcements, she finds Jane has closed the window shade. It’s a simple solution, but it works wonders. Darcy can’t see the desert looming around them; instead, she sees the inside of the plane, the inside of the airport. They head out to Puente Antiguo in an ancient taxi and Darcy starts to shake. 

They’re quickly swallowed up by dust and desert. Everywhere she looks mimics her memories, her dreams. Jane grips her hand tightly, fingernails digging into Darcy’s flesh in an attempt to hold her in the here and now. Darcy takes the jolt of pain and uses it to try and calm her racing heart. She runs through her coping mechanisms, slowing her breathing and trying to relax from head to toe. If nothing else, it gives her something to focus on besides the panic choking her gut.

“I didn’t get us a room.” Jane confesses as they pull up outside of the nondescript building SHIELD housed its machines in. She waits until the driver has pulled away to enter a code and swing up a rattling service door. “I figured we could just stay in here until I got it done. I can work through the night and I packed a few blankets so we can sleep if we have to.”

Darcy runs fingers over the bracelet on her wrist, tracing the word as she takes in the machines. It takes a few fits and starts for her to focus in on the work in front of them but Jane seems forgiving of her lapses. 

It takes them 18 hours inside a windowless room to finish compiling the information Jane needs. (Thank God for the local pizza place who has no trouble leaving the pies on the ground outside the door per their request. Otherwise, they would have had to subsist on the three bags of pretzels and a water bottle Jane had smuggled off the plane.)

Darcy tries isolating herself by putting in headphones but Jane requires her input which requires being able to hear her questions. And with the music pumping in her ears, some evil sixth sense keeps convincing her that evil is lurking just over her shoulder and she will never hear it sneaking up on her. The headphones come out and Darcy tries to focus solely on the work. Jane takes a 30 minute nap, putting her feet up on a second computer chair while Darcy stands watch. The pacing helps but only just a bit. 

True to Jane’s word, they don’t stay any longer than strictly necessary in the familiar town. They don’t even head deeper into the town; the warehouse is well off the beaten path on the outskirts of the township proper. They make it back to Albuquerque and check into the conference hotel before dinner.

Darcy makes it into their room before falling to her knees in the bathroom and emptying the contents of her stomach. She’s been holding herself so tightly that the act of vomiting near snaps her in half. She curls up on the floor of the bathroom, crying and shaking. Jane offers to sit with her but Darcy snarls at her to leave her alone and kicks the door closed. 

After an hour, Darcy is out of tears and nursing an empty but still roiling stomach. Jane knocks gently on the door and comes in to press a cellphone to her hand.

Darcy holds it up to her ear on autopilot, but her question is to Jane. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.” Clint’s voice is warm over the phone and the tiniest bit of stress melts from her shoulders.

“I called the airport and got your ticket changed. You fly out tomorrow morning.” Jane is standing in her power pose but her eyes are troubled.

“But the conference...” Darcy protests, but it sounds weak even to her own ears. She feels defeated.

“Can happen without you here.” Jane sits on the floor next to Darcy. “You’ve been so strong, but it’s okay to go home now.”

“Jane, no, you need me. It’s my job.” Darcy tucks her feet under herself, makes to stand but can’t find the energy. 

Jane takes in her pale and clammy skin, the bags under her eyes, and the shudders that shake her friend. “No. I needed your help with the machines and readouts. The hard part is done and now it’s time for you to go home. Your job now is to focus on yourself, on getting....better.” Better isn’t the right word, but Darcy understands what Jane is trying to say. 

But it’s just not true. She’s trying to push her away because Jane knows she can’t handle this; isn’t strong enough, can’t deal. Darcy is shaking her head but Clint’s voice pulls her attention. “You’ve done what you came to do, Darce. You spent almost two days in the scene of your nightmares and didn’t succumb to it.”

“Don’t wanna run away Clint.” she’s...whining, almost. “Gotta be strong.”

“Tactical retreat isn’t running away. You need time to regroup, find someone to talk to, some more strategies, then try again. You’re so brave, but it’s time to come back to me, okay?” That sounds perfect. He sounds like home; like cookies and blankets and Clint and Natasha and....

“Okay.” Darcy is so tired but maybe going home isn’t giving in. 

“Good. We’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. I love you.” Clint’s goodbye rings in her ears as Jane helps her up and into the bedroom. They leave all the lights on and the television tuned to a food channel. Darcy doesn’t sleep but Jane manages a few hours at a time, before rolling over to check on Darcy. 

In the morning, Darcy showers away the stress of the long night. Jane calls her a taxi to the airport and hugs her tightly before pushing her towards the waiting vehicle. 

“Go home, hug your man. I’ll see you back at the office next Monday. Enjoy a short vacation.” Jane smiles. Darcy manages a half smile back before climbing into the taxi. 

She doesn’t sleep on the plane ride back, but the further she gets from New Mexico, the better she feels.

~

When the plane lands, Darcy has berated herself a thousand different ways. She’s not sure why but she had assumed facing New Mexico would magically fix her issues, make the nightmares go away. Instead, it has brought her trembling to her knees and she’s had to crawl back home a failure. Tears have etched a permanent tract down her face and she’s glad she had the row of seats to herself. She wishes she had a few of Natasha’s miracle eye masks as she debarked the plane in New York. Clint is sure to notice, but she’s not quite sure she has the energy to care.

They’re both there, Clint and Natasha, waiting for her outside baggage claim. He strides quickly to her, takes her duffle bag from her and wraps her up in a one armed hug. She holds herself stiff, not wanting to fall apart in the busy airport. It’s Natasha that wraps a steadying arm around her waist as they walk out to the waiting car, Clint following closely behind them.

She doesn’t speak, maybe can’t speak just yet. They bundle her into the back of the car, again surrounding her with their warmth on both sides.

She turns away from Clint, rests her head on Natasha’s shoulder. “I failed.” she confesses in a whisper.

“You did no such thing.” Natasha admonishes. “You faced down your fear and made it back whole. If you had stayed, you would have been too broken to continue the fight.”

“Tactical retreat.” Clint repeats his words from last night, his hand a comforting weight on her thigh. “Can’t try again if you don’t have any strength left.”

They climb up to her apartment together and the door opens to a stack of DVDs on her coffee table and a baking mise en place set out and ready for someone to make a cake.

“I couldn’t decide what you would want more; entertainment or baking,” Clint says with a sweeping arm at the preparations. Darcy smiles with genuine pleasure.

“I don’t think I can bake yet. Can we just...” She points to the couch and Clint jumps ahead to pop a DVD in for her. Natasha stands back at the door and Darcy turns to her. “Are you staying?”

“Yes.” Natasha leads the way to the couch, helps Darcy arrange the blanket around her lap before joining her to sit and watch Clint struggle with the television.

They watch movie after movie, neither Clint nor Natasha asking Darcy if she wants to sleep. Instead, they encourage her to lean against them and then finally to lay down. She winds up with her head in Natasha’s lap and her feet in Clint’s. Clint gives a great foot massage that has her moaning into Natasha’s leg. Natasha has a calming touch, stroking the hair back from her face and brushing her finger through the loose waves. The tension leaves Darcy’s body slowly until she is a puddle with no bones on the couch.

The latest movie comes to an end and the room is lit only by the blue glow from the screen.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Darcy says into the blue-tinged dark. “I really thought I could handle four days and I barely made it two.” 

“‘It is the courage to continue that counts.’ Now you have faced your demons, you are ready to heal.” Natasha says simply as she rests a hand against Darcy’s head. 

Clint grabs her wrist and strokes a finger across the bracelet she still wears. “We’ll get through this together,” he vows.

Darcy believes they just may. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done.... 
> 
> There's a sequel planned, based on the song "Go" by Glen Phillips. It will be the third in my series of Swallowed by the New based stories.
> 
> It will also bring Clint, Natasha, and Darcy into bed together.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> ~CraftingKatie


End file.
